Angel’s Weblog

Lily and Damian sporting their chest tattoos.
11 November 2011

I think everyone has their favorite “amateur” singer on YouTube. I hate to use the word amateur because some of these folks are very talented and it feels disrespectful to downgrade their talent with a single word. But anyways, my favorite YouTube artist is, by far, katethegreat19 or Erutan (she goes by two names). I’ve downloaded most of her video game songs to my iPod and I’ve bought her self-produced and created CD. I love her music, her voice, and her will to produce and distribute her music.

I was recently listening to her arrangement of the Final Fantasy IX song “You’re Not Alone.” She didn’t write the tune, but she wrote the lyrics and the arrangement, plays all the instruments and sings. I am very romantic as I think many women are, and the lyrics she wrote are so romantic. I’m not linking the YouTube video because I think the FF IX footage set to the song distracts too much from the beauty of the song. If you’re curious, click on the play button below to listen:

My brother and I were discussing the power of lyrics just the other day. We were talking about Nirvana. Nirvana’s musical composition is powerful and Kurt Cobain’s voice is powerful. Both of these things carry an emotional depth that causes an emotional reaction in the listener. But the lyrics are crap. Even Kurt Cobain admitted that his lyrics were nonsense and he wrote them without thought. So Nirvana’s music lacks the depth, strength and power it could have achieved if they had taken that final step.

Matt and his brother Sam listen primarily to the melody whereas my brother, my cousin Justin and I all listen primarily to the lyrics. To us, the lyrics give the song meaning whereas the melody sets the mood. A perfect example would be “I Remain,” the song from The Prince of Persia by Alannis Morissette. The instruments and melody were obviously chosen to set the mood of a romanticized Middle East as Westerners have always painted it, and then the lyrics describe the relationship between Dastan and Tamina.

In my life, I’ve written one poem, but I’m pretty proud of it. It was written in a moment of deep pain and shame. Matt and I were both dating other people right before we got together, and we both got dumped (thankfully, or we wouldn’t have ended up together). Both of the people we were dating were crazy and, after we got over the pain and humiliation of getting dumped, we were grateful that they dumped us. But this is the poem I wrote just after getting dumped when I really wanted him back but I knew he was bad news:

Sugar-Coated Poisoned Candy

I feel his breath; I touch his skin.
There’s no one here but me.
We move together imitating
synchronicity.
I’m alone and he’s alone,
deep inside of me.
How I crave the saccharine taste
of dripping poisoned candy.

Lying in the dying promise
of the cold wet sheets.
Choking on the ashes
of false light and heat.
I’m alone and he’s alone,
sleeping next to me.
A cadaver breathes; the hole is filled
with salty poisoned candy.

It could be touched up a bit here and there (the cadence is off in the second verse, and the word “cadaver” is too cliche in a tortured love poem), but overall I’m pleased with my moment of pain creating art.

I didn’t upload anymore Halloween photos because they really are crap and Matt said the ones I posted did a good enough job getting the point across. Hopefully I’ll be a better flash photographer by next Halloween and can do the holiday more justice. Now I need to get decent photos of all the Christmas lights to post. They are things that the Brits do better than us, and there are things that we do better than the Brits. And our Christmas lights are quite impressive.

I’ve had several requests for Halloween pictures. I’m sorry it took so long, but I am a Photoshop junkie so I manipulate and crop the photos before I upload them, and that took awhile. Hopefully they are worth the wait.

Damian was a dragon, but he did not wear his mask or wings.
Lily was a pink cat.
31 October 2011

Lily saved her money for three months to purchase this wig.
It is a very fun wig.
31 October 2011

This was the very first house, and the kids
are already dipping into the candy.
31 October 2011

We all met at Uncle Rick’s house. Rick ordered pizza, and we
had a great time. The neighborhood was packed with children
trick-or-treating and many of the houses were decorated
like this yard is.
31 October 2011

The adults at this house were having a great time with all
the little kids coming to trick-or-treat.

Clara was a pink Batgirl. There were quite a few Batgirls.
Batgirl is popular.

Cody didn’t dress up but I think he’s scary enough.

I’m not sure what Logan is dressed as, but his was
the biggest hit. The green lines glowed in the dark.

Lily being a kitty, and
Damian being a dragon.

Adam looked great.

After trick-or-treating, all the children dumped their candy out
and started trading. After everyone finished the trading,
one of the kids said, “Any candy you don’t like, throw it
into someone else’s pile!”

Clara with her haul for the evening.

Clara is very pleased with her loot.

A top view of the kids sorting through their candy.

We had a very good time. Rick’s neighborhood was really into the spirit of Halloween.

Matt wants to upload some more photos of the houses. I felt that many of the photos weren’t that great, but Matt said that England doesn’t do Halloween on the scale that Americans do, and he wanted to post the photos for the Brits to see. My flash skills are incredibly weak, and the Halloween night photos really highlight that weakness. But I’ll ask Matt which photos he would like to upload, and I’ll put them on the next post.

As a hardcore hobbyist photographer, it’s very interesting to see my weaknesses in photography accentuated so strongly. It shows exactly where I need practice and improve.

Damian and Lily carving jack-o-lanterns with Daddy
30 October 2011

I don’t handle stress well. I could never do Matt’s job because I do not perform under pressure. I hole up in the fetal position and weather it like a natural disaster, praying for it to pass soon.

Matt and I have been under a lot of pressure because we are carrying the burden of two mortgages at the moment. But the old house is on the market now and we actually have an offer on it. Hopefully everything will go well over the next few weeks, and this fellow will actually buy the house and we can then concentrate on the new house.

And that’s why there have been no blog entries. It’s hard to write a blog entry when you’re emotionally stuck in the fetal position.

But with a contract on the old house, things are looking up. It’ll be nice to have only one house to focus on instead of two houses in two different cities.

On a side note, my sister and her children got a new puppy, but they can’t pick him up until Christmas. So, for the next two months, Smokey (another chihuahua — Spikey’s brother, in fact) will be staying with us. He’s very cute and sweet. We just need to get through his house training and he’ll be a really great dog.

Spikey and Smokey
30 October 2011

Smokey
30 October 2011

Damian and Lily swinging at the park
July 2011

I finally realized that I am a writer because I finally realized what a writer is. A writer is not someone who has published a book. A writer is not someone who makes their living from writing although that certainly seems like a good definition. A writer isn’t even someone who can necessarily write well.

No. A writer is someone who thrives by writing. Someone who, if they don’t write, feels a painful, unfulfilled longing pulsing from everywhere. We may write poorly. We may never be published. But we only thrive by putting our ideas, feelings, stories and thoughts to paper. Writing is how we communicate, learn and grow.

So, there it is. Finally, at the age of 43, a personal admission and acknowledgement of a part of myself that I have long belittled. “Oh, I’m not a writer. I’m not good enough. I’ve never been published. Blah blah blah.” Whatever. If I want to be happy, then I have to write.

I’m going to drop my angst-filled posts for a moment and step into the anti-war political arena. (All of sudden my blog has become very heavy. I’ll lighten things up as soon as I get my head sorted out.)

My husband and I listen to music in two very different ways. He listens to the melody and I listen to the lyrics. That’s why even if a song has a great tune, if the lyrics are utter crap, I have a hard time listening to it. The lyrics will annoy me until I turn it off in frustration.

I recently stumbled upon 009 Sound System’s song “Born to Be Wasted” on YouTube. There are two interpretations to this song: 1) Getting high on drugs, driving fast, living free and hard, getting your kicks, etc as a personal philosophy on how to live life. There are plenty of songs like this that speak to youth, and I find the concept shallow. Living fully, truthfully and passionately is extremely difficult, and I think, the much more noble and worthwhile journey. Drugs and fast cars are cop outs.

The second interpretation of the song as an anti-war message has much more significant meaning and actually makes the lyrics quite poetic and deeply meaningful. Here is a comment left on a lyrics site by Frantazle:

I think that this song refers to young kids being ‘wasted’ as in killed. The army gets them when they’re young and then shits them out.

As a song about drugs and fast living, the lyrics are generic. As a song about disposable soldiers, the lyrics are brilliant, sad and poignant. I couldn’t find an interview with Alexander Perls, the man who wrote and performed the song, so you will have to make your own interpretation. I’ve linked a homemade YouTube video from someone who took it as a war song, and the lyrics are below that.

oh the beat’s gonna bash gonna break it up
this car’s goin’ fast gonna speed it up
the night’s not gonna last so let’s keep it up
we were born to be wasted

oh the rock’s not gonna stop so let’s rip it up
the beats are gonna drop you can trip em’ up
your mind is on fire but it’s not enough
we were born to be wasted

baby out loud
knew that it would come to this
ain’t worth livin
if u can’t get your kicks

oh the rock’s not gonna stop so let’s rip it up
the beats are gonna drop you can trip em’ up
your mind is on fire but it’s not enough
we were born to be wasted

this gun’s blowin up it’s just a warning shot
this plane’s takin’ off on a terror run
this night’s gonna end like a missile drop
we were born to be wasted

Damian and Lily playing with toy swords
17 March 2011

My life is mundane as FUCK! There. I’ve said it. And I’ve said it with a big bold cuss word so that there is no misinterpretation of the sentiment or the intensity.

I know what a midlife crisis is now. I’ve found my true love. I have the two kids. I have the dogs and the SUV, and very shortly, I will have the 3000 square foot house with the white picket fence. I’ve done everything that we set out for ourselves as responsible and reliable adults, or at least what is expected of us as responsible and reliable adults that we buy into completely. It’s the stuff of movies.

But what happens after the housewife moves into the 3000 square foot house in the suburbs to care for the children and the home? The movie ends after the purchase of the dream home. And the only movies they make after the dream is achieved all concern disaffected, disillusioned housewives leaving their husbands and children to find their soul again in Italy.

My personal midlife crisis involves lack of romance and excitement, lack of personal belief or vision. My ego has been mined out and replaced with the needs of the family as a unit. Each day is a monotonous repeat of the previous day, filled with housework and childcare. Everyday is a thousand yesterdays.

And I want off this fucking train. But I don’t want to leave my husband and children or move to Italy (Nothing against Italy or the Italians — they are awesome. I can understand why Italy is always the chosen home for the resuscitation of the soul.)

I haven’t figured out the answer to this puzzle, but it requires a bold statement. A commitment of the magnitude that only children conceive of because they don’t know that it’s impossible. And their ignorance, naivety, and joy then make the impossible possible. The kind of dream that you lose in your teens or twenties when embarrassment and social understanding curb your faith, worth, and excitement.

I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting all of the time because I have abandoned an important part of myself to live the housewife American dream. Tonight I sketch out ideas of reclamation. Tonight I embrace the socially awkward, geeky, excited, ambitious, silly, awesome part of myself. Tonight I reclaim my ego.

I will let the photos speak for Photoshop.

The first photo is straight from the camera without any Photoshop manipulation:

Damian and Lily
17 March 2011

The second photo has been processed through the Photoshop Magic Machine:

Damian and Lily
17 March 2011

For those interested, I used a Brightness/Contrast layer with a gradient sunburst to create the darkened edges. Then another Brightness/Contrast layer to beef up the brightness and the contrast of the entire photo. And then finally, a Color Balance layer to add more blue into the photo. I use layers so I have more flexibility.

Photoshop rocks my world.

ps. Thank you to everyone for being so supportive of my blog. It’s very very very very kind and awesome of my family and friends to encourage me so actively. I am a lucky woman.

Matt and Spikey Baby Bear
27 February 2011

I’m afraid your son is being seduced by the Dark Side. Me and Spikey will own his soul eventually. Spikey’s cuteness will not be denied!

Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!

This is a picture of Matt when we first started dating.
He looks so young. He’s only 27 years old in this picture.
December 2000

I’m reading Crazy Sexy Diet by Kris Carr right now. And I’m having a such strong emotional response. I’m only on page seven, and Kris Carr is describing her back story, and I’m thinking, “That’s me! And that’s me! All of this is me!” I wasn’t diagnosed with cancer, but this part is all me:

Because my diet had been based on what to eat to stay slim for the cameras, I had no idea how to be healthy. I’d spend endless energy weighing my food and counting calories and fat grams. Meals were planned around convenience, auditions, and cocktail hour. My mantra: Unwrap, nuke, GO! Vegetables were far too elegant and way too time consuming to buy and make at home. Fake foods encased in plastic or cardboard were time-effective and cheap. The multisyllabic poisons on the label didn’t scare me. I figured, “If it was dangerous they would never sell it to me. Doesn’t the FDA ban the bad stuff?” Besides, all I cared about was the promise on the package. “Look great and lose weight while still enjoying this sensible cake.” I could eat this crap and my ass would be teeny-weeny. Hallelujah!

The early signs and symptoms were obvious, but I couldn’t see them for what they were: a toxic lifestyle and environment that was causing physical and emotional stress. I had a bunch of chronic health problems, including zits, colds, chest infections, allergies, depression (Prozac and wine helped that), bloating, constipation, abdominal pain, acid reflux, yeast infections, and fatigue–all distress signals from an imbalanced body. Yet rather than dealing with the real issues of the tissue, I’d often compound the problem by tossing drugs down my gullet. Over time, the symptoms worsened until they became unbearable.

Next step: Whole Foods, my new pharmacy. In the beginning, I had no idea what I was doing. I would race around the store frantically filling shopping carts with books, videos, supplements, powders, potions, and every piece of organic produce I could get my hands on. Kale? Okay! It was dark green and leafy, so it must be good for me. Yet in the back of my mind I wondered what the heck I’d do with this scary-looking weed.

I almost cried reading this passage. My health and my personal environment are so out of control. I’m not centered. I’m not grounded. I’m not whole. And I’m certainly not happy. I’m stressed and sad and drowning.

And I feel so old. I’m 42. I feel like I’ve squandered half of my life on bad health, stress and sadness. But that’s not actually true. I had “Teflon youth” (to use Kris Carr’s words) to protect me when I was younger from our society’s poisonous foods plus I was into sports. I was very healthy through my twenties. But in my thirties, I lost the protection of youth and I had children and became a stay-at-home mom. People don’t realize how very difficult the SAHM gig is. It’s isolating, stressful, lonely and your dreams and your ego get put away in a box under the bed as the children take center stage. You become a shadow in so many ways. And this has been my world for the last six years. The first year was amazing because I had just become a mom and I was so excited and happy, so let’s not count that one. So for the past five years, I’ve been unhappy and unhealthy.

And my family and friends who love me and want to help me have wonderful suggestions of getting back out into the world and reconnecting, perhaps taking a college course or getting involved in club that revolves around one of my hobbies. And those are great ideas. But I think the very foundation of my self has cracked, and that has to be fixed. I live in a very cluttered house, and I’m very very unhealthy. If I wasn’t so terribly unhealthy, I don’t think I would have had such a strong reaction to Kris Carr’s words.

Sadness always seems to eventually lead to realization and then to action. So even though sadness can hurt, I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

This is how Austin chic we used to be:
Matt and I took our niece, nephew, and younger cousins to see the
midnight showing of Red vs Blue at the downtown Alamo Drafthouse,
and the creators of Red vs Blue were there as well for a Q&A afterwards.
Given that they were all teenagers, they enjoyed the cuss words in a
wonderfully new and innocent way. As adults, cuss words become
saturated and worn — they are no longer cool as we realize that they
actually impede communication. But it was fun listening to the kids play
with them and enjoy the fun and “cool factor” of them. But we did tell them
they had to clean up their language (they especially loved “f*cktard”),
or their parents would not allow them to come out with us again.

This is a photo of the teenagers with the creators of Red vs Blue
outside the Alamo Drafthouse around 2am on 22 July 2004.

(Now, we live in the suburbs and have only vague memories and old photos
of when we used to be hip. Maybe one day, after I manage to lose
the middle-age weight and buy clothes that don’t accentuate my matronly
role, I’ll be hip again… maybe…)

I haven’t written in a very long time — a very long time — and I feel so rusty. I imagine it’s similar to a musician who hasn’t played her instrument in over a year. My craftsmanship is weak: my timing is off and I’m out of tune. These three sentences took five minutes to write since I had to work and rework the words and the cadence.

With practice, art and ideas flow. With neglect and disuse, the mind becomes fuzzy and unfocused. Ideas and art are no longer spontaneous. And that spontaneity, that inspiration has an almost magical or divine sensation to it. When you let your talent atrophy, though you still have inspiration, it’s not nearly as powerful. It’s like you’re not resonating with the universe anymore. You have to plug yourself back in.

I know that some folks don’t have the same spiritual views as me, and I totally understand and respect that. Of course, this blog is from my point of view, and writing, for me right now, feels very discordant, a cacophony in my head with no focus or theme. Writing is not easy right now. The ideas and words, the art of writing that I enjoy so much is all scattered around in my head. And because I have the spiritual views that I do, I attribute this feeling of discordance not only to disuse and letting my skills get rusty, but also to a muffled connection with the universe. I’ve been unplugged for a year.

But I know that not all folks feel that way. I understand that we all have a personal place inside of us from which we create. And we all have a different way of creating. This is just how I do it. I realize that others’ experiences may be very different from mine.

It will take time to get back into the flow of writing. But I’m really looking forward to it. As much as I enjoyed Warcraft and quit with great reluctance and, at first, slight bitterness, I’m glad things worked out the way they did. I’m excited and eager to be back with my first and true love: writing.